


Bits And Pieces And Long -- But Not Hot -- Summers

by musicforswimming



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-24
Updated: 2005-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforswimming/pseuds/musicforswimming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Godric's Hollow, the dead begin to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bits And Pieces And Long -- But Not Hot -- Summers

**Author's Note:**

> Written prior to DH's release, so thoroughly Jossed by now -- call it an AU? Written for the 2005 round of Shacking Up, a Sirius/Remus secret Santa challenge.

The Shack, really, had been an ideal place for him to go. With a bit of work it came out rather nicely, really. It was no palace, but it was clean, for cleaning had helped Remus not to think, and there was mended furniture, for mending things had helped Remus not to think as well, and there was food. There had, of course, been paperwork with the Magical Trust, but ultimately the feeling there had been that if he wanted to finally move back into his haunted house, that was his own problem; they had more important things to worry about at the Ministry these days.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had not talked about Godric's Hollow in the weeks after they had come to the Shack, dripping wet and the other two crying over Harry, who for himself stood wide-eyed and clutching at something, looking half mad.

Remus had found room for them all, and blankets, and there was plenty of food. Harry had not spoken to anyone for a week, and the other two had little to say. Remus had not pressed them.

It was a hand that had first appeared. Gave Remus not a little fright, too, that was for certain; even in this world, hands appearing out of nowhere weren't exactly commonplace.

The hand had appeared, but he hadn't seen it. He had felt it. It had rested on his shoulder, squeezed hard and gentle at once as he was falling asleep whilst trying not to fall asleep at his table, nearly snoring over the Daily Prophet. The light had been dim, there had been a bit of pie which he had bought for Harry's brief visit following the funeral still on his plate, uneaten, and Remus had been falling asleep over Quidditch scores. The entire scene was so normal, so ordinary, that at first the familiar touch on his shoulder had not disturbed him so very much. Oh, there had been something in the back of his weary mind that had said no, hold on, this is not right, but he had been sleepy, and he had not been entirely certain what it was that was wrong, precisely --

Until there had been a shriek and a crash, and Remus's heart had leapt to his throat at the sudden loud noise, and he had seen Hermione staring at him, pale as if she had seen a ghost.

Which, Remus supposed, was entirely reasonable, because in a way she had, after all.

Harry and Ron weren't far behind at the sound of Hermione's shriek, of course, each of them sleepy-eyed and wands at the ready nonetheless, and by then Remus was awake, was staring at the hand which floated in midair. Floated with a purpose, morever, floated open, held up at the level of some invisible person's shoulder, as though that person were surrendering, were showing that he -- for it was a he, Remus had known that touch on his shoulder -- was quite empty-handed and meant no harm at all.

_Up to no good, perhaps, but not up to any harm, either_ was the thought that had dashed like a startled rabbit through Remus's mind as they all stared at the hand.

It had taken a few moments for Remus to realize that Harry and his friends still had their wands pointed at the hand, to realize that they, unlike he, probably had not recognized it immediately, if only because they, unlike he, had not felt that hand's touch many times over the years and become so accustomed to it that it still fit onto one's skin like -- well, 'like a glove' seemed a rather silly thing to say, but that was the general idea. He shook is head, looking at them and laughing incredulously. "It's all right," he said. "It's all right."

"All right?" Ron repeated, gaping. "There's a hand floating in midair! 'S got to be Dark Magic!"

"No," Remus said, shaking his head, smiling at Harry. "No, it's not."

"_Black_ magic, though, maybe," Harry muttered, smiling back at Remus a little and putting his wand away.

The hand gave him a thumbs-up.

Harry laughed. It was the first time Remus had heard such a happy sound in far too long, though truth be told it was not truly happy laughter, anyway.

More, of course, had followed.

The hand was a left. It was followed not long after by a right foot, which seemed as though it may have been connected, if they were both part of a body, both belonging to the same person. Remus had never been one of those foot people, so he didn't recognize this so easily, but there had been no mistaking the hand.

One day, while Remus had been quite sure that Sirius was in the room with him, because the hand had been on his as he sat at the table, clasping his, the foot tapping impatiently on the floor, there had been a strangled yelp in Harry's voice from another room. Once again, they had all come running, but this time, Harry had been pale-faced not with fear but with -- with pain and shock and, well, and joy. Hermione had gasped, her hand going to her mouth, and Ron had gaped again, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face. The foot and hand had moved across the room and Remus realized that they were embracing the newcomer, of whom the only thing which could be seen was a pair of half-moon spectacles.

And so they had come. Hands and feet and ears and glasses and all those little things had appeared, slowly, over the next few days, until the Shack was crowded with them. Occasionally, just to frighten the citizens of Hogsmeade, someone would throw something or smash something, and usually this was met with laughter that Ron and Harry and Hermione tried to turn into screams and howls. The laughter, Remus thought, was good for them, and they all pretended, because wizards or not they were still British and it simply Wasn't Something to be Talked About, that he was simply doing the same when there was half a face and a throat and hands and a chest and a cock to be had of Sirius, enough that he had started to wear clothes again, and Remus found himself moaning and panting in the middle of the night.

"Damn you, Sirius," he muttered one night. "This is simply too strange, you know that, don't you?"

Sirius did not have all his throat back yet, and so his voice was not really there, but he smirked and lay down beside Remus as they fell asleep. Which Remus suspected was what he would likely have done if he'd had his voice, so things were quite nearly back to normal.

As normal, at least, as these things would ever be.

Even after he was all there again, after Dumbledore and James and Lily and far too many others were back again, after Harry had spent nights crying in the attic, his words and those of his Mum and Dad far too soft to be understood even if any of them had felt much inclined to eavesdrop, Sirius was still quieter. There was less laughter now, there was less joking, and he jumped at loud noises, which Remus suspected he might do for quite some time.

"If you -- " he began one evening, and then stopped, shook his head and smiled, for there was very little to say.

Sirius had looked at him, and laughed shakily. "He'll be terrified of us now," he said, his voice rougher even than when they had first seen each other after Azkaban. "We've gone and faced his dragon and we've beaten it; he's just kept from ever having to see it, hasn't he?"

Frankly, Remus thought, death was not nearly so frightening as a large angry dragon, but that was another story altogether. "Yes," was all he said, smiling a little and patting Sirius on the shoulder as he went to the kitchen in search of something to eat.


End file.
